Under Your Skin
by Animegoil
Summary: Perception is reality, even when that perception has been forced upon you. He came too late to save Kaistern. Oneshot, Tetheus x Kaistern


**Written for the DK exchange on Livejournal. Sort of reflective of the new writing style I was having terrible struggles with adopting for a certain fic and now can't seem to shake... My DK muse was damn hard to find also. But I do so love Tetheus/Kaistern...  
**

**Enjoy! **

* * *

_**Under Your Skin**_

* * *

Later, Tetheus is the only one who understands.

It is he who finds Kaistern, stained in blood, grime and other bodily fluids, to the point of masking the pallor of the skin underneath. Blood coats the bars of the cage, and makes a mess, dried and rusty in some parts, sticky and globby in others, of the mesh-wire floor upon which Kaistern lies. Raw, putrefied flesh rubs against the rusted, prickly metal of the floor when Kaistern shifts, unable to stifle a groan that sends flecks of blood spraying into the air.

The air is damp, dripping from the ceiling, falling one by one onto festering, raw flesh. Tetheus's mind reels as he watches how each drop is an explosion of agony in Kaistern's eyes.

0o0

Kaistern whimpers through the carriage ride as each bump jostles his skin against the woolen blanket that was the only clean thing Tetheus could find to wrap him in. His head sits on Tetheus's lap, but it's not enough. Tetheus wants to pull him close, hold him tightly, _anything_ besides sitting there uselessly with his lungs refusing breath every time they pass over the purple and black canvas of Kaistern's face, the torn flesh at the side of his temple and the crookedness of his nose. But he's afraid that no matter how gently he holds Kaistern, he'd shatter him into tiny pieces. He can't hold him hard enough to express how much he would have given in exchange for Kaistern to never have had to go through this.

So he has to content himself with wiping away the grime from Kaistern's forehead and erase the tear tracks on his bruised and cut cheeks, and then run trembling fingers through Kaistern's blood-clotted hair. If only he'd come quicker.

0o0

He wakes halfway through the bath and screams, screams with a ragged voice that begs forgiveness and asks for release from the darkest corner of hell. He hears neither Tetheus nor Ruwalk's voices trying to calm him, can feel nothing but the burning, searing, lava-hot pain of the lukewarm water seeping into every gash and crack in his body.

Tetheus helps Ruwalk to a chair where they can watch Kaistern fall into a drug-induced coma, deep enough so that even nightmares won't be able to reach him.

0o0

When they reach Draqueen, some of the terror leaves Kaistern's eyes, but is instead replaced by numbness. He spends the first two weeks in and out of consciousness, with as many sleep-inducing and pain-reducing drugs as they can safely give him. Those first two weeks, Kaistern is the only one in the castle who rests.

He can still feel the ice-cold sheets pressing painfully against his tortured body in his sleep, cringes every time a burning hand is pressed, no matter how tenderly, against his face, and passes out at each bandage change.

0o0

Alfeegi finds him on his knees next to the bed, unwinding the bandages from around his chest with his arms already free. Even though he's shivering, whether from cold or exhaustion, his sleeping gown lies discarded on the floor. Alfeegi rushes to him, but hesitates, at a loss as to how to touch him when every inch of his body bears a multicolored bruise or cut of some sort, and finally settles for the inside of his elbow, which escaped relatively unscathed. Kaistern fights him, or attempts to, at least, and won't explain to Alfeegi _why_ he doesn't want to go back into bed, why he shies away from the blanket that Alfeegi offers him, why even the touch of Alfeegi's fingertips (he'd thought they were so smooth and gentle before) now grate across the tender flesh of his arm.

0o0

His body heals. His skin is still dirty-water-pale, and on his back and temple there are mounds of scarred, disfigured flesh that will never, _ever_ heal. But when Ruwalk hugs him, tightly because he now _can_, and tries to kiss his forehead, Kaistern squirms under the feel of the rough cloth chafing against his shoulders, the prickling sensation of Ruwalk's hair against his face. And tries not to because he shouldn't, because he never had before, because it sends a brief look of hurt to flit over Ruwalk's face.

Tetheus knows there are more scars than the ones on the surface.

0o0

It's not particularly apparent, nor does it manifest itself at all times. But Tetheus sees it in the way Kaistern pulls at the collar of his shirt during a formal dinner, as if it chokes him. Or in the way that his shirts, when he's about the castle, are now sleeveless and collarless, pure silk that floats limply about him. Alfeegi comments on the unprofessional wear, but quietly, under his breath, because they've all noticed the lack of luster in his eyes that's at odds with the brightness of his plastic smiles. The noise of keys jingling, locks unlocking and metal on metal still makes him blanch.

0o0

Tetheus approaches him one night. The lights are off, but Tetheus sees the silhouette on the balcony immediately. Kaistern stands in the shelter of the walled corner of the balcony, as if afraid of the teasing fingers of even the evening breeze. He has no shirt on, prefers to go about barefoot, and his jeans have been scrubbed down by hand into harmless, soft threads.

There is unease in Kaistern's eyes, but not unease of Tetheus, per se, because he _trusts_ Tetheus, but more because he instinctively knows that he's about to be forced to do something he doesn't wish to.

"Undress me."

Kaistern trembles. Tetheus lets him, even helps by unfastening the top three buttons of his uniform, letting a hint of skin whiter than Kaistern's peek underneath.

"Undress me," he commands.

Kaistern crumbles under the vulnerability that flesh represents. His hands clutch clumsily at the cloth, the folds scraping his knuckles as he fumbles with the buttons. It hurts, the metal digging into the tender mounds of his fingertips, burning and bruising in his mind. But he won't say it, and he keeps his face lowered because he doesn't want Tetheus to see. Tetheus, likewise, does not say anything. He does not comment on the sway of Kaistern's body, the hitched breath, no, he closes his eyes and lets Kaistern's hands gain control. It is hesitant, at first— his fingers skitter across Tetheus's collarbone when he pushes away the shirt over and off his shoulders. Then comes a pause, and Tetheus slits his eyes to look at the other man, who gazes at that expanse of skin—paler than his own, and though no longer as scarred, marred nonetheless.

He does not touch Kaistern. He lets Kaistern control the situation, realize that sensation does not have to be paired with pain or shame. His slim hand is curved claw-like, and he presses his fingernails onto Tetheus's shoulder, drags them along gently, experimenting, deeply enough that they leave a red mark. The pain is not his own, Tetheus does not flinch, and though his fingernails ache with the pressure that had been forced upon them, the pain was not his own.

Kaistern continues, gaining strength in his movements, running his hand through the other man's dark hair, and once he removes Tetheus's shirt, leaving them standing equally, Tetheus takes his hand, holds it carefully like it is liquid that might spill, and kisses it. The feel of the rough, worn lips on the back of his hand itches, but it is not altogether unpleasant, and Kaistern revels in the realization—the _remembrance_— that not all touch is crimson-coated.

Tetheus leads them to the bed, lets Kaistern minister him as he wishes, too guilt-ridden to enjoy it, lets him experiment with as many sensations as he wishes, and watches with deep, flooding relief as the life, the wonder, begins to seep back into Kaistern's eyes. There is still too much lackluster, too many scratches marring that lemon-tinted glass, but over time they'll be polished into a semblance of the old again.

0o0

He still tires quickly, and his arms shake with the exertion of holding himself up. His elbows give out, and he falls against Tetheus, their sweat mingling between their chests, and Tetheus waits. Kaistern tenses, waits too, for the heat to sear him, but it doesn't come. Crimson eyes watch him pointedly, and Kaistern laughs, relief and gratefulness, and a tinge of unease. It is doubtful, Tetheus knows, that Kaistern is wholly comfortable with the sensation, but it is the step in the direction that they've been looking for. He places his hands on Kaistern's back, feels the knot of scars that will never disappear, tended too late, and blames himself.

The whisper hisses across the still night air, and Kaistern's hand fists the covers, "Did you kill every one of them?"

"Every single one of those bastards," he assures him, and is rewarded with Kaistern's sigh and the pillowing of his head against the nook of Tetheus's shoulder and neck. There is a hand idly playing with the hairs on the back of his neck.

* * *

**To those for whom this applies: Thanks for reviewing! **


End file.
